


Anchor: The Whole World Is Sleeping...

by mockingjayne



Series: Anchor [3]
Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:09:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24433348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mockingjayne/pseuds/mockingjayne
Summary: PART THREEClaire's been here before, but refuses to allow them to succumb to the same outcome as, anchoring herself to the one person who won't let her drown, Jamie.Canon divergent from 5x05
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp & Jamie Fraser, Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser
Series: Anchor [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1656268
Comments: 28
Kudos: 75





	Anchor: The Whole World Is Sleeping...

The anxiety circles, beginning in her stomach, gurgling its presence known before clawing its way to her head, racing to her heart, twirling the fear of the unknown into knots that tense her entire body, tingling pains numbing the tips of her fingers.It leads to the shaking of her hands, as if discarding the thoughts with a flick of her wrist, but instead of dissipating, they’re static against her, refusing to leave - fear clinging to be reality.

Usually, Jamie was there to ease the anxiety with a soft touch, the heat of him igniting the cold dread in her to that of a content warmth.Her usual fears, the ones that have long since settled into her being, have taken a backseat to the tiny baby nestled within her, causing her morning to start with retching, and her nights ending not much differently.It was as if she were purging the fear from herself, every bout of nausea assuring her that this was normal, that their baby was alright.She reveled in the tell tale signs, terrified that if they were to cease, the worst was to come.And Jamie wasn’t there.

After the adrenaline of Isaiah and Kezzie’s surgeries had worn off, there was very little to distract the thoughts that she had once managed to stave off.That is until she rested her head on her pillow - every haunting thought of doom blinding her in nightmares that had her waking in a panic, the warning sound of dripping water and a terrifying grimace of a face she can’t quite place fading in a drowsy haze, her hand flying to her still flat stomach, the thought _this is it_ passing more than once, her grip becoming tighter around the bunching of her shift beneath her palm.The haunting images happened so often, they gathered in her chest with worry, leaving her curling into herself in the small bed she’d fashioned in her surgery on nights when Jamie wasn’t there with her.She’d long since abandoned trying to fall asleep in the giant indentation his body had left in their bed, find it suffocating her in his absence rather than enveloping her in its warmth.Being without Jamie was always difficult, like tearing at stitches of an old wound that never quite healed, but being without Jamie with the fear that at any moment something could happen to him, to the baby, it left her wanting.Her fingers instinctually grasping for him on the empty side of a bed he’d never slept in, needing to feel the steady beat of his heart, trace the contours of a face she hadn’t seen since leaving Brownsville.

Scheduling her days with as many tasks as possible tended to be the best course of action, wearing her body tired tending to the garden, continually baking loaves of bread, and taking in as many patients as she could.

Lifting the glass casing to place another piece of bread underneath, her vision goes starry, black enveloping her vision, white blurry wings she swears she’s seen before, float across her eyes, the silhouette of the window she’d last seen visibly floating away from her, and she grips the table.Her knuckles turn white, bringing her other hand around to gather her bearings before her vision returns.

A deep breath comes over her, exhaled only when she feels a hand on her back.She nearly jumps at the intrusion, immediately knowing the hand is not the touch from whom she wishes it to be.

“Claire, ye alright?”The woman who’d become her right hand worriedly asks, literally offering her a hand as she balances precariously on the ledge before her.“Lord, Claire, you’re as a pale as that cloth,” she declares.And she feels it, the slight sheen of sweat appearing across her forehead, as the nausea washes over her.

“I—I’m going to be…” she fumbles for the words, nearly pushing Marsali over trying to get out the door.Her feet barely make it to the edge before the bile of having skipped a meal rises in her, tumbling out onto the dirt below, her curls tumbling over her shoulder, attempting to veil her discomfort, before they’re gathered in the hands of Marsali, holding them back as she heaves over.

“Thank you,” Claire gets out, using the back of her hand to wipe the sick from her lips, a grimace taking over her face, as she sits down on the bench usually reserved for patients.Her head sinks back to the wood of the house, her eyes closing to the sailing of her mind, waiting for her body to sink back into normalcy, a small smile tugging at her lips, knowing that for the time being, all is well.

“You’re with child?I didn’t even ken that was possible,” Marsali exclaims, the last part coming out as a whisper of confusion, causing Claire to still her movements, a tremble of truth at someone speaking the words into existence that wasn’t her or Jamie.Cementing this child’s place in the universe — known.

Claire peeks one eye open to see Marsali’s face matching the same tone of her voice.Her nose scrunched, her mouth all but hanging open, and her eyes shooting a glare at Claire’s stomach, buried beneath layers of apron, dress, and shift.A sigh escapes through the taste of her sick, preparing for the onslaught of questions.

Jamie and Claire had agreed that they weren’t going to tell anyone, both under the guise of wanting to do so together, mainly concerning Bree.But both knowing the risk involved, neither of them had voiced the dread they’d felt wrapping tightly around them like a noose, that by the time Jamie got home, _there could be nothing left to tell._

“Oh, it’s possible,” she starts, briefly closing her eyes again, collecting herself, wrangling the fear to hide behind the tide of her eyes, shifting in blue.

It’s only after she feels the earth beneath her fingernails, the smell of life all around her, that she’s able to breathe deeply.The task at hand, her garden, demanding her attention, and taking her mind off the genuine curiosity surrounding Marsali’s weary questions.At one point the words, _“I’m not that old,”_ having been said, only to see a tilt of the young woman’s head, and a slight roll of her eyes.Claire huffs again in exasperation, sending the curly tendrils flying that have escaped from their knot at the base of her neck.

But by the end, what had begun as shock, quickly turned to that of concern, the trepidation unable to be masked in Claire’s voice, her usually steady hand only stilled from its tremble at Marsali grabbing ahold, gripping her fingers like a lifeline, a shared look between the two, a knowing squeeze of her hand, assuring each other that they would be there for the other, a secret knowing that only mothers share, silently passed between them.

_“Good, because you’re going to be the one to perform the delivery,”_ quickly put the look of shock right back on the blonde’s face.

Claire almost laughs thinking of Marsali’s expression, but then the list of things she needs to teach her begin culminating in her mind, tinged with the anxiety of all the things that could wrong, the complications with Bree…with Faith, and she with absolutely no control of the situation, she feels the blurry wings of birds threatening to overtake her again, when she hears it.

The soft, but present gallop of a horse fast approaching her.The sharp intake of anticipation clouds her lungs, and she finds she’s holding her breath.Floating in the place between reality and a dream - for that brief moment she’s suspending between all she’s lost and that comes back to her.The ache for the part of her heart that must venture out of her reach beats in her fingertips, as she itches to touch what’s real.

Looking up, her mouth curves into a smile before she knows what she’s doing, her body moving without volition towards the soul that she’d entangled her life with, so intricately sewninto the very being of who she was, her arms wrap around her soldier, the proof of such a life resting between them.The stress of the past few weeks melting away in his arms.

“Careful, Sassenach,” he warns, and her brow furrows with worry.

“What’s wrong?”Her eyes immediately roam over him in search of injury, unprepared to be presented with a wounded heart.

But his face seems unconcerned, not necessarily a sign of his wellbeing, swells into a smile as she reaches for the bag slung over his arm.

With a glint in his eye, one hand reaches to pull out a fluff of meowing grey, the other coming to rest on her stomach.

“I got the wee bairn a gift.”


End file.
